Occupational Hazards, and How to Avoid them by Staying Home.

By Donna Drejza

DonnaDrejza.com

I remember the first time I saw one. It was back when I became a Realtor in 1987. There was no internet, so we actually had to go outside. We had a Multiple Listing Service which worked by forcing a landline phone receiver into a two-holed modem—made of rubber. It was like mating a bicycle with an octopus.This would be after you waited for your colleague to finish filing her nails and get off the phone. Finally, a printer would spew out a roll of text on thermal paper. No photos, just words.

If, say one was curious about what a particular house looked like, one would have to drive over and see for themselves. My clients were obsessed with refrigerators, so the plan was for me to preview and take photos. (Yes, cameras had been invented.) The first one was a house owned by a stay-at-home writer; the directions said use the key under the door mat, if he wasn’t staying-at-home. 

As I entered the home, my heart started to pound. I heard some sort of live creature which scratched and made vicious snorting sounds. I had no idea what it could be. I wondered if maybe the writer was Stephen King and had been killed by this creature. And there I was all alone. There was nothing but the kitchen door protecting me from this danger. Sometimes it was downright scary to be a real estate agent —especially in 1987 B.C. (before cell phones).

Not only was I worried about leaving the poor writer dead on the floor in a pool of blood —I still needed to see the kitchen. What was I to do?

I quickly came up with a plan which involved running out of the house!  Once safely outside, I walked to the side yard and climbed on top of the metal trash can and peered into the kitchen window. Well, naturally the trash can tipped over causing much noise and agitating the monster.  I tried again.  Whew! No dead writers on the linoleum. This didn’t mean the creature hadn’t chewed his head off in the basement.  I steadied the trash can and held my Polaroid up to the kitchen window to capture the refrigerator. Rats, all this for a Norge.

Then it must have spied me in the window, because the scary noises resumed. There is was.  It had huge bulging eyes— the size of a cow's.  But it had whiskers and was baring teeth —thankfully, the size of rice grains. What was this thing? It looked like some sort of Land Manatee.

This pathetic animal felt it was his duty to defend the Norge and his water dish with all 14 pounds of might. Then it turned around and I saw the curly tail and knew. It was a Pug. 

This whole scene must have made an impression on me because years later, I would become a writer —and get a Pug.

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